


Drunk (in love)

by baldoldman



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: drunk, gendry taking care of her, silly arya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 15:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3900601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baldoldman/pseuds/baldoldman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gendry discovers that Arya is a very physical drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk (in love)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my very first fanfiction ever. I'm very scared and very excited and comments and criticisms would do me very well. I sort of mixed the tv version (arya being taught how to shoot) with the book version, sorry! Thank you for reading! :)

The inn was crowded, dim, and drowning in the drunkenness of middle aged men.

Gendry sat close to Arya in an already crowded booth, with two sandy haired men who each had women sitting on their laps. The men were nice enough, part of the Brotherhood Without Banners. They were drunk enough, too.

 

And they were steadily getting Arya drunker and drunker.

 

It started with a sip of Gendry's ale, and then Lem ordered Arya her own mug, which she gulped down greedily, with a slight grimace from the sour taste. There was another mug after that. And another. It wasn't until the third one that she even recognized the buzzing in her fingers.

 

The corners of her eyes were turning blurry. It was frustrating, until she downed the fourth mug. At that point, Gendry noticed it too. Her actions, once lithe and purposeful, became clumsy and silly. Her words were slurred, but they still made sense. Halfway through her fifth mug, she was undeniably drunk, and the Brotherhood were getting a kick out of it.

 

She leaned forward onto the table with her elbows crossed lazily in front of her, speaking nonsensical things. She wasn't a sleepy drunk, but her body slackened regardless, and her entire little frame was slumped slightly against Gendry.

 

Her thigh was firmly against his, and her back nearly brushed his chest with how much she leaned in front of him. And she was _touchy_. Arya hadn't had real human contact since Anguy was adjusting her body whilst teaching her how to shoot, and before that, it was probably Yoren dragging her away from her father's beheading.

 

Tonight, her guards were down. She would lay her tiny hands on any nearby member of the Brotherhood. They took it with laughter, as she would grip their massive shoulders while telling a story, or once in a while just reach up and pat their dirty heads.

 

She was especially physical with Gendry, of course. Maybe it was because he was just the closest human to her (and close her truly was), but Arya would crane her neck around and ruffle his dark hair for no reason, and was in the habit of dragging one of his hands onto the table beside her so she could play with his fingers, spreading them out and then pushing them back in together. She did it all almost subconsciously, as she chattered with the brotherhood.

 

"You were speaking of your list, little lady." Anguy explains when Arya loses her train of thought.

 

"Oh, right! My list." She smirks, leaning further across the table. "It's a list of all the people I will kill." Her eyes narrow challengingly.

 

"I hope I'm not on it!" Lem jokes.

 

Arya rolls her eyes. "I speak their names as a pray before I go to sleep every night.

 

"Joffrey. Cersei. Illyn Payne..." She lists them all off, absently reaching behind her, and grasping Gendry's index finger to pull his hand onto the table beside her. She counts them on his fingers, smirking as she finishes. "Lem Lemoncloak."

 

The Brotherhood bursts into a fit of laughter. Arya twists her body slightly to look back at the very much amused Gendry.

 

"I'm only kidding." She explains to him, sincerely concerned.

 

"I know." He laughs.

 

Her face changes then, as though she's discovered something intricate and amazing.

 

"Gendry, you have a beard!" She murmurs on astonishment.

 

"Yeah, I suppose I do," he replies, unable to resist smiling at her ridiculousness.

 

She reaches out with one of her small hands, tracing his entire beard repeatedly with her index and middle finger. Over his lip, around the chin, repeat. His grin grows and he laughs, grabbing her wrist and stilling it.

 

"I think you've made your point." He smirks.

 

She nods, her eyelids lipping as she scans his face. "Wait-your eyes are blue?" She notes.

 

He nods. "Last time I checked."

 

She frowns for a moment. "What colour are my eyes?" She demands, widening her eyes as much as she can and shoving her face into Gendry's.

 

He laughs, scanning her face up close, as her lips twist into an absent-minded smile, eyelashes spread on her cheeks and dark eyebrows. She has just a couple freckles on the bridge of her nose, he realizes. And her eyes. They've lost all of their usual hardness, softened by the booze. They're the shiniest shade of grey, with silver and blue flecks dancing about. 

 

"Well?" She presses, blinking, and opening her eyes wider, if that were possible.

 

"Grey." He mutters.

 

"Oh." She nods, pulling away. "I could've sworn they were green."

 

It was barely ten minutes later, when Arya decides to go to her and Gendry's shared room in the second floor of the Inn. She cuts off in the middle of her sentence, blubbering about nonsense, dragging herself onto Gendry's lap, and off again to get out of the booth.

 

The Brotherhood let her pass, smiling to themselves at her. She doesn't appear tired, maybe a bit uncomfortable, but quite awake. She reaches the stairs with many of the brotherhood's protective glances on her, and trips on the third step. With her grip slackened by booze, she slides right back to the floor of the Inn. Although many of the big men move to help her, none beat Gendry as he jolts out of his seat, worming through people to reach her.

 

"Are you alright, little lady?" Thoros asks from across the inn.

 

She stands up before even Gendry reaches her.

 

"I know what you're thinking, ' _she must have some black magic, to have survived such a fall_!'" Arya says sarcastically, rolling her eyes, and continuing up the steps. "Good night."

 

That welcomes a short guffaw from the brotherhood, and Gendry shakes his head, smiling, before going to follow her up the stairs.

 

"You take care of her!" Anguy demands. "And don't take advantage of her!"

 

Gendry too rolls his eyes, before striding up the stairs. 

 

Her knocks on the door.

 

"Please help me!" Arya replies, voice muffled by something.

 

Confused and startled, Gendry barges in, expecting to find Arya bleeding out on the floor with her throat slit. Instead, she's stumbling in the middle of the room, somehow caught in her tunic. Her breeches are already thrown away, leaving her in just a pair of boy's small clothes. Her vest is gone as well, and her tunic is stuck around her head, with the arms nearly choking her.

 

"Seven hells, Arya!" Gendry curses, turning away as soon as he sees her bare legs. "Put on some clothes!"

 

"I could if only you'd get this damned shirt off me!" She replies, voice still slurred and cracked.

 

"I can't!" He replies.

 

"Please, Gendry!" She begs. "I'm stuck."

 

He can hear her still pacing the floor, and suddenly there's a loud smack, and a thud, as Arya trips and lands on the wooden floor, with no hands to catch her.

 

"Seven hells, Arya!" Gendry curses again, turning and rushing to her. He reaches her, first easily pulling her up to her feet, before yanking the tunic back down over her body.

 

"Wrong way." She grumbles, this time easily pulling the tunic off over her head.

 

Gendry gets a long glimpse at her budding, but surprisingly full breasts before she turns her back to him, throwing the tunic away and collapsing across the bed. Gendry states at her, stunned. The small clothes help, but considering it only covers some parts, Gendry is quickly becoming aroused. And the longer he allows his eyes to linger on Arya's smoothly arched, pale back, the worse he feels.

 

"Arya! Put your shirt on!" He hisses finally, grabbing the tunic off the floor.

 

She mumbles something, flipping over onto her back. He can't even bring himself to look away, finding his only defense being the tunic. He throws it at her, and it successfully covers most of her chest.

 

"Put it on, Arya." He growls.

 

"Why?" She asks, sincerely confused in her drunken state.

 

"Because, you're a lady, and you're half nude!" He replies.

 

Arya looks down, almost just noticing her chest. "Oh, you don't like my breasts?" She asks, another impressively genuine question.

 

"No-I mean-yes, but, your-no, you're a lady, Arya!" He argues. "The only man who should see you is your husband."

 

"But I haven't got a husband." Arya's eyebrows knit together. "Wait, are you my husband?"

 

"No, I'm Gendry," he rolls his eyes, thanking the gods that at least she hasn't moved the tunic.

 

"So, I don't have a husband?"

 

"No, you don't, so that means NO man should be seeing you!" He explains, in whispered yells.

 

"We could just get married." She shrugs. "Then I would never have to wear a top, would I?"

 

"I promise you, Arya, if we were married, you'd _never_ have to wear _anything_." Gendry replies, too honestly for him to feel good about.

 

"So let's get married then!"

 

"No, Arya, you just need to put on your tunic, please!" He begs.

 

"Give me yours." She decides.

 

"If I give you my tunic, will you promise to keep covered ALWAYS?" Gendry cocks an eyebrow.

 

"Promise." She nods. "Fine then." He says exasperatedly. He turns around, shrugging out of his vest, and pulling off his tunic. He turns around, prepared to hand it over to the half naked girl lying in the bed. But she's not lying in the bed, she's on her knees, right on the edge, and in a blur she has her arms around Gendry, and her lips on his. It's dizzying. Her small chest is pressed against his huge one, her thin fingers clawing through his hair. Most importantly, her tongue. It's inside his mouth, licking and pressing. Gendry's always thought Arya's never kissed anyone before, but the way her lips and tongue work beg to differ. The ale from downstairs tastes so much better from her mouth. He wraps one strong arm around her delectably soft back, lying her back and crawling above her small form on the bed.

 

There's something in the back of his head, screaming that this is wrong. It's so wrong. She's drunk, she's a lady. She's Arya. When those two words enter his mind, he has to break the kiss.

 

He's still hovering over her, and he tries his best to avoid looking at her swollen lips or her pale breasts.

 

"Why?" She breaths.

 

"You're Arya." He replies simply.

 

"Yes. Do you not like Arya?" She cocks an eyebrow clumsily. The kiss has clearly sobered her mind, but not her coordination.

 

"I do, I like Arya- _you_ , a lot."

 

"So why won't you kiss me?" He hands absently run down his chest.

 

"Because you're drunk." He still doesn't have the willpower to move off of her though. "It's not right."

 

Arya nods slowly, her eyes drinking in Gendry hovering over her.

 

"We should just stay like this all night, then." She smirks.

 

Gendry grins, finally rolling off. They stay like that, side by side and half nude, nearly asleep. Arya in a very sleepy state, crawls over Gendry's chest, reaching to the floor and grabbing his tunic, before pulling it over her head and falling asleep curled into his side.


End file.
